My mother taught me to look through
the eyes of the dead, to speak with
the mouths of the forgotten, to play
their music and learn their songs
lips working silent prayers
rewriting the blood, the marrow,
till the memory of it turned
hard, like trees fallen into facsimile
blinded by hurricanes
and the whims of silt deposits
or mountains underground.
Broken things have a language,
she said, if only you listen.
Lynette Mejía writes science fiction, fantasy, and horror prose and poetry from the middle of a deep, dark forest in the wilds of southern Louisiana. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, the Rhysling Award and the Million Writers Award. You can find her online at www.lynettemejia.com.